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Soliloquy Lyrics

Artist: Frank Sinatra
Album: Sinatra 80th-Live

Writer(s): Rodgers/Hammerstein

I wonder what he'll think of meI guess he'll call me the "old man"I guess he'll think I can lickEv'ry other feller's fatherWell, I can!I bet that he'll turn out to beThe spittin' image of his dadBut he'll have more common senseThan his puddin-headed father ever hadI'll teach him to wrassleAnd dive through a waveWhen we go in the mornin's for our swimHis mother can teach himThe way to behaveBut she won't make a sissy out o' himNot him! Not my boy! Not Bill!Bill. I will see that he is named after me, I will.My boy, Bill! He'll be tallAnd tough as a tree, will Bill!Like a tree he'll growWith his head held highAnd his feet planted firm on the groundAnd you won't see nobody dare to tryTo boss or toss him around!No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll toss him aroundI don't give a damn what he doesAs long as he does what he likes!He can sit on his tailOr work on a railWith a hammer, hammering spikes!He can ferry a boat on a riverOr peddle a pack on his backOr work up and downThe streets of a townWith a whip and a horse and a hackHe can haul a scow along a canalRun a cow around a corralOr maybe bark for a carouselOf course it takes talent to do that wellHe might be a champ of theheavyweightsOr a feller that sells you glueOr President of the United StatesThat'd be all right, tooHis mother would like thatBut he wouldn't be President unless he wanted to beNot Bill!My boy, Bill! He'll be tallAnd as tough as a tree, will BillLike a tree he'll growWith his head held highAnd his feet planted firm on the groundAnd you won't see nobody dare to tryTo boss or toss him around!No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bastard'll bosshim aroundAnd I'll be damned if he'll marry the boss' daughterA skinny-lipped virgin with blood like waterWho'll give him a peckAnd call it a kissAnd look in his eyes through a lorgnetSay, why am I talkin' on like this?My kid ain't even been born, yet!I can see him when he's seventeen or soAnd startin' to go with a girlI can give him lots of pointers, very soundOn the way to get 'round any girlI can tell him ...Wait a minute!Could it be?What the hell!What if he is a girl?What would I do with her?What could I do for her?A bum with no money!You can have fun with a sonBut you got to be a father to a girlShe mighn't be so bad at thatA kid with ribbons in her hair!A kind o' neat and petiteLittle tin-type of her mother!What a pair!I can just hear myself bragging about her!My little girlPink and whiteAs peaches and cream is sheMy little girlIs half again as brightAs girls are meant to be!Dozens of boys pursue herMany a likely lad does what he can to woo her>From her faithful dadShe has a fewPink and white young fellers of two and threeBut my little girlGets hungry ev'ry night and she come home to me!My little girl, my little girl!I got to get ready before she comes!I got to make certain that sheWon't be dragged up in slumsWith a lot o' bums like meShe's got to be shelteredAnd be dressed in the best money can buy!I never knew how to get moneyBut, I'll try, by God! I'll try!I'll go out and make it or steal itOr take it or die!